


Flawed

by Spacefille



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Non Consensual, Non Consensual Pale, PWP, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Rape, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacefille/pseuds/Spacefille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grand Highblood is presented with a mutant troll to cull and decides he'd rather play with it instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flawed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this right after I played OFF. I think I wanted to make someone suffer and the Sufferer got the short end of that stick. :P There is no plot in this whatsoever, please heed the tags on this fic.

You ignore the listed crimes as you look down at the new troll brought before you. You don't care what sort of revolt or rebellion this troll is involved with and the words wash over you in senseless noise.

Instead you focus on the troll. He's beautiful and dressed in rags as he stands before you, his head tilted back in defiance. Something shines in his face as he looks at you without a shred of the fear or cowardess you see in most trolls brought before you. Those eyes catch your attention more than anything - they're bright and red, made of an impossible color that you've never seen before.

You wonder if it is just a fault in the eyes, and raise a gigantic hand to grip his tunic.

The wash of words fade and your advisers clear the room. You see the troll glance over his shoulder at their retreating backs, even as you jerk him forwards. He stumbles against you where you sit on your throne.  Your claws shred the fabric with ease, his leggings as well, and soon he is bare before you.

He is a short whip of a troll, strong muscles standing out as only they could on someone who is too used to working hard and never getting enough to eat. You don't particularly care, you want to see his blood; you want him to bleed for you. You run an overly large hand down his chest, feeling the smoothness of his skin before sinking your claws in. You grab his other arm to hold him still as he gasps and tries to pull away, and grin. Blood wells around your fingers, painting his torso with the brilliant unnatural color.

He's special, this one, special and lovely. Pain laces through his eyes, which he never takes off of you. There is something too that, something you think you like. You are not used to anyone looking you in the eye, especially as you hurt them. Begging you expect, but not this. You bring your other hand up to grasp him by the neck as you remove your claws from his chest. His teeth clench but his eyes never leave you, calm even as you lick your fingers clean.

His blood tastes like purity, of good things and light and suddenly you want to soil that goodness, eradicate his calm. His blood will paint your walls tonight, you think. But not before you've had your fill. You let him go only to pick him up again in your huge hands, settling him down on your lap.

Now he looks concerned, a flicker of apprehension crossing his face. You grin wider, one hand carrying down to undo the laces of your pants. He swallows, his eyes widening as you free yourself. You know how you look, you're twice the size of a regular troll. It is not uncommon for a troll to expire while you play, and you expect your pretty little red blood will perish just the same, thighs bathed in the same color that trickles down his chest. You bring your hand up again, running it along his abdomen and then lower, seeking out with claws what you will soon be inside. You find what you're looking for, dragging those claws over his slit as he tenses.

Your bulge is hard, wanting a warm place to sink into, and you decide to indulge it.

He offers up one tiny protest as you grip his hip and position him above your bulge. “I made a vow --” he voice trails off into a hiss as you rock your hips, thrusting up inside of him.

 

Only half of you fits and you release your grip on his neck to take him by his waist. His hands come out to hold onto your shoulders as you force him down on your bulge.

His face contorts. He's in pain, of course he is, no untrained nook can take all of you, but you fuck him anyway. Up and down he goes, his own bulge still neatly tucked away, which you know only adds to his misery. If he let it go there would be more room and you can go deeper, a fact that you snarl into his ear.

His eyes had closed but they now open to study you. You growl at him and lash out, sharp teeth catching on his cheek. Blood trickles from the wound but he barely flinches. Instead he wraps one of his arms more tightly around your neck, and places his head against your shoulder.

“Stop for a moment,” he says. “I'll take it out.”

You would not normally pause at such a request, but he'll be dead soon enough anyway, and something about how he speaks gives you pause. It's commanding, the small troll has strength to him. You slow, but don't quite stop.

It's enough. He clings to you with one arm and brings the other down to fumble for his bulge. The wince of pain never quite leaves his face but within moments he is sliding out of his sheath and into his hand.

As soon as he has freed himself you slam up into him harder. With the extra room you can almost get your entire bulge into him. His mouth opens into a silent scream, his fingers digging into your upper back. You growl again as you start to fuck him hard, heedless of his agony. You sink your teeth into his shoulder and grind down. He still doesn't cry out but his hitching breath gives him away.

You feel warmth and liquid around your bulge and you know he is bleeding now, coating your legs and chair with his unique color. A satisfied rumble wells up from your throat as you taste his blood. You feel yourself nearing completion, a few more strokes and maybe a broken neck should do it. You release your teeth from his shoulder as you let out a hissed snarl and start to come, filling him up to the brim.

He's not yet dead, though his eyes are becoming glazed. Not being dead yet means you can play longer, and you remove yourself in order to shove two fingers up his nook quickly. You press your fingers over his seedflap, holding it closed. He jerks involuntarily in your arms. “Hold it,” you say, smirking at him. You flex your claws of your hand that remains on his hip in warning, telling him without words what will happen if he doesn't do as you say.

He shakes as he tries his best to stay still. There is too much, you can see the soft curve of his abdomen from the seed being held there. He pants, harsh in your ears, sweat beading his brow. You expect him to beg, by this time any other troll would be blubbering. Instead his blood red eyes crack open. A trembling hand comes up, and dares to touch your face. He blinks slowly with the pain and his mouth opens.

“Shoosh,” he says. Those shaking fingers lift, then come down again. He pats your cheek.

Not many things can surprise you, but this does. This troll you have speared on your fingers is trying to pacify you as a moirail would. Shock wars with rage inside of you as you stare at him. He merely meets your gaze levelly and leans forwards and up, pressing his lips to your own. The hand continues to pat.

You start to calm despite yourself.

He pulls his mouth away from yours and rests his head on your shoulder, still panting softly from the effort of holding both your and his genetic material inside of him. His hand continues to pat your cheek. Soft ‘shh’ sounds reach your ears. You let your fingers slide out of his nook but he still doesn't release your material, though you can feel him tense with the effort of holding it in.

You blink slowly, eyes falling half lidded. You let out a soft warning snarl but there is no force behind it. You no longer feel like being cruel to this troll, or opening him up. Instead you let your hand trail down the length of his back. He's warm and damp with sweat and still shaking. You bring your other hand up to press against his abdomen and he keens. Still only the slightest trickle of fuchsia colored genetic material escapes to trickle down his already bloody inner thighs. He's determined, this one.  

You like that. You snort softly and sniff at him, embedding a hand in his hair and moving his head back so you can look into his eyes again. You press you hand harder into his abdomen. His face contorts with pain and he gasps, but he still does not beg and no fluid escapes.

You're impressed despite yourself. You also find you don't want to continue to hurt him, and bring your hand down once again. You shove fingers back up his nook. With a flick of a claw you open his seedflap and suddenly the torrent releases. The scream he lets out echos throughout the room. In retrospect you remember being told that forcing a seedflap open is very painful. He soaks your hand as his scream ends in short hiccuping sobs.

You remove your fingers and place your hands on the arms of your throne, refusing to feel guilt. He is lucky to be alive.

You wait, curious to see what this small shivering troll will do. His next actions will probably decide his fate. You flex your fingers and smirk.

He calms by degrees and looks at you the entire time, blood red eyes searching yours. After a moment he leans forward. He places his head against your shoulder and reaches up to pat your cheek carefully right where he had before, as if you hadn’t just made him soil himself all over your seat.

He's a pale slut, this unique troll. His tactic is effective. Your eyes fall to half lidded and a soft content rumble wells up from your chest. You bring your arm up to hold him to yourself and just enjoy. Many trolls have tried to be your moirail, and all of them have died while begging for your mercy. Strangely enough this one never begged.

You think you'll keep him alive a little bit longer.

.

Time passes and he begins to doze, hand stilling and resting on your shoulder. You decide you've had enough and get up, jostling him back into awareness. You dump him on the ground and he struggles to stand, a fact you ignore as you haul him towards the entrance to the room.

“Go,” you say, pushing him towards the guards that are currently on duty. He turns and stares up at you.

“Release him into the desert where he was found,” you growl, ignore the look. “If I see him again, I'll kill him.”

He doesn't flinch but you think he seems almost sad as the guards take him by the arms and haul him away.

.


End file.
